


Bruises

by sharkie335



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-04
Updated: 2010-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:02:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie335/pseuds/sharkie335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dad and Sam have always fought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I imagine what the last few years together were like for the Winchester boys before Sam disappeared to Stanford. No real spoilers, but inspired by "Dead Man's Blood"

  
Dean carefully wrapped the bandages around his dad's ribcage. The bruising was already a deep, vibrant, purple, going to black at the center, where Sam had thrown the lamp at him. Dad grunted as Dean pulled the bandage tighter, but didn't actually say anything.

Sam had already said his piece, ranting about how they needed to stay in one place long enough for him to actually graduate high school, and then Dad had started in on how they couldn't - that the monsters of the world wouldn't stop hunting just because Sam wanted to be _normal_. That word sounded dirty coming out of Dad's mouth and Sam had just stared at him for a long moment before hurling the lamp and storming out.

It wasn't the first thing to have been thrown by one of them at the other, and Dean just sighed as he surveyed the ruins. There had to be some sort of middle ground, here. He knew that Sam wanted to go to college, that it was important to him. Hell, he had _savings_ and _plans_, and hell, even _investments_ that Dad knew nothing about. Every time they stayed in the same place for more than a few days, Sam managed to find a job, even if it was just mowing lawns, and he sent that money to the account he'd set up back in Tennessee.

"Dad," he started.

"Don't, Dean. Just don't."

Dean sighed again, but just said "Yes, sir," and finished tying off the bandage.

***

Sam had finally given up on staying in one place long enough to get that diploma. Instead, he'd dropped out of high school on his seventeenth birthday and came home two days later having passed his GED. Dean had expected another fight, and got it, when Dad had found out that Sam had enrolled in an on line course with a community college.

"That money could be spent on something _useful_ Sam! Where did you come up with it, any way? You'd better not have used one of the credit cards!"

"No! I didn't use one of your god damned cards, Dad! I got the money, and I got it _honestly_, which is more than you can say!"

This time, it was John who threw a book at Sam and stormed out.

"God, Sammy. Do you have to throw this shit in his face?" Dean asked as he mopped up the blood from where the cover had split the skin on Sam's forehead.

"Just leave me alone, Dean. I have a plan."

Dean sighed and picked up the book, putting it back on the nightstand.

***

The day that Sam got his acceptance letter to Stanford, it was the worst fight ever. Instead of insults, or something being thrown, it was fists and feet and words that neither of them were going to be able to take back.

Dean stepped between the two of them, trying to get them to break it up, to cool off before it was something completely unforgivable. Facing Dad, he kept the bulk of his body pressed back against the beanpole that was Sam. "Stop it. Just stop it," he yelled.

Dad acted like he wasn't even there, yelling over his head at Sam. "If you walk out that door, don't bother to try and come back, Sam. I don't need you - _we_ don't need you!"

"Yeah, well, I don't need you either!"

Suddenly, the heat and warmth that was Sam disappeared from Dean's back, and he almost stumbled. Turning, he saw Sam picking up his battered duffel and slinging it over his shoulder. "Sammy, stop. Just -"

Sam looked right at Dean and said, "I'm sorry, Dean, I can't. I've got to - " and then he cut himself off, opening the door and slamming it behind him.

"Dad!"

Dad sat down heavily on the end of the bed, rubbing a hand over his face tiredly. He already had a black eye and his lip was bleeding - injuries that matched the ones that Sam had left with. "Dad, there's got to be a way to fix this. We can't just let him walk away."

"Let him go, son. He's made his choice."  



End file.
